


Temptation

by Zahira



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ascian, Gen, Pen Pals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-14 15:50:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8019904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zahira/pseuds/Zahira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Warrior of Light receives an intriguing anonymous letter and responds out of curiosity... just as its sender planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Temptation of Flattery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overwhelmed by a mystery writer's interest, the Warrior of Light feels compelled to reply. Set during the patch lull after moving to the Rising Stones, before the arrival of the Domans.

The familiar, comfortable bustle of the ever-growing hamlet of Revenant's Toll greets you upon your arrival at the aetheryte. You look around to take in your surroundings, giving Slafborn a polite wave as you note the vivid orange shades of the setting sun creating long shadows and illuminating the tops of structures. A deep breath of cool, lake-humid air brings a smile to your face, and you turn to head inside the Seventh Heaven for the evening. More polite waves and smiles get passed around inside the bar as you cross to the rear exit, leading you to the Scions' headquarters.

Inside, your polite smile turns to a genuine one upon seeing your friends and companions. Tataru in particular squeaks briefly when she takes notice of you, waving and calling your name. "Evening! How was your day?" You open your mouth to respond, but the lalafellin woman's excitement has the best of her. "F'lhaminn has made the most wonderful spicy sauteed coeurl and this perfect rolanberry milk thing to balance it, you simply _must_ have some. It should still be hot, we only just ate. Oh, and I've got mail for you!"

You cannot help but laugh to yourself as she totters back to her desk; Tataru could carry on a lively conversation alone in a crypt in this mood. You follow, taking the few letters she hands you with thanks before meandering over toward the bar.

"Evening F'lhaminn... I hear you've created another miracle for us tonight?"

The Miqo'te woman returns your smile readily, waving her hand in the air with amused dismissal. "She's too kind, you know that. But I'll grab you a plate of course."

"Nonsense. You could fund the Scions yourself were you to open a restaurant, and we would only be sad that we wouldn't have you to ourselves anymore." F'lhaminn's constant presence behind the bar is part of what helped make this new home feel like home. Truly, the peace and constancy since the Scions relocated to Mor Dhona could not be more welcome after your ordeals.

You sit down at one of the common area's handful of tables as F'lhaminn disappears to get you a dinner plate and begin looking over through the letters Tataru passed along.

After the first successful stage of Operation Archon at Cape Westwind, your legend began to spread in earnest as the forces of the allied grand companies whispered of your combat prowess. People across the realm have been writing to you since, some even going far enough to hire a scribe if they can't write for themselves. Generally they are simple words of thanks or encouragement, sometimes with questions about what sort of person you are, often seeking advice or guidance along the adventurer's path. Your name is often lost in the whispers, and many of the letters are simply addressed to "Warrior of Light," but most know your tale. Twelve help you if your enemies ever capture a postmoogle, for they always seem to know where to find their targets no matter how little information they are given....

F'lhaminn returns to you with food as one letter in today's little pile catches your eye. No sender information is noted, but your full name is listed in flowing, formal script as the addressee, along with a very specific address: "The Rising Stones, Seventh Heaven, Revenant's Toll, Mor Dhona." You turn the envelope over, checking for a seal on the wax, but there is none.

After a taste of your food--you note you must compliment F'lhaminn again later--you break the seal on the envelope and withdraw the letter. The parchment is plain; you unfold it to reveal a page of the same flowing script as the envelope.

> _Warrior of Light,_
> 
> _In your newfound fame, you have certainly met with a great many people who have wished to see you, to thank you in person for simply being you. You receive them all with the same unparalleled composure and grace that you display in battle, whether meeting the lowest peasants or the highest leaders of nations. I am but one such individual among the many--one who sought to meet you once to indulge a passing whim, only to find that you have consumed my thoughts since. Your accomplishments are nigh unprecedented, even for a warrior with your many gifts, and your stoicism lends you an air of mystery that only pulls me to learn more of you. To put it simply, you fascinate me._
> 
> _Numerous are those who would compare you to the most heroic stories, yet I would contest that none like you has existed for several eras, even in the most thrilling of songs. I have a particular interest in history, and one must look no further than the nearest historic text to recognize that there has never been so short an umbral age. This is directly a result of your actions. Even knowing this, I am certain you have still more room to astound us all if faced with further challenges._
> 
> _I would be delighted should you choose to return this simple contact, though I do not doubt you want for the time to devote to responding to all who seek your attention. While I think it best that I remain discreet for a time due to strange circumstances, the postmoogle outside your organization's headquarters has been instructed on where to send any reply you may have._
> 
> _Regards,  
>  E_

You flush involuntarily as you read; while you are used to these letters being complimentary, none have ever been quite so specific and forward about their admiration. You read it again as you continue your meal, then fold it up and tuck it away, resolving to respond as soon as possible.

* * *

Once you retire to your cozy chamber within the Rising Stones, you extract the mysterious letter again, reading it once more before closing your eyes to think.

Someone you've met before. Well, he--if it is a he, anyway--is certainly right that you've met a dizzying number of people since your rise from secret slayer of gods to vanquisher of Garlemald. The initial he gave was no help, either. Edelstein? The writer certainly seems familiar with how you conduct yourself in battle, and the Flame Lieutenant had been part of the later phases of Operation Archon, but what reason would he have to want to remain anonymous? Estinien? Perhaps the writer being Ishgardian would explain his desire for discretion, but the dragoon had been all business. Eynzahr? Those rumors that he was a notorious pirate... but no. The Maelstrom Commander couldn't possibly be the type to be so... verbose.

You sigh. Even if you go through everyone you know, there are still many names you've learned and forgotten. If you want to know more, you decide, you will simply have to write back.

You lean over the small writing desk, dipping a quill in ink, and begin to scribble.

> _Dear E,_
> 
> _Thank you for taking the time to write to me._

You stop, tapping the quill against your lips as you think, not wanting this to be such a standard response. You decide on simple honesty.

> _I must confess, your letter left me intrigued. Numbers of those seeking contact aside, no one has ever claimed that I fascinate them, nor that I consume their thoughts. Your praise was so extravagant that I could hardly believe my eyes. I do hope I don't disappoint!_
> 
> _Whatever strange situation leads you to withhold your identity, I assure you that I do not make it a habit to judge others based on circumstances of birth or wealth, and I would hear whatever you will share of yourself. You say you are a student of history, which is rare in Eorzea. Are you from Sharlayan, like many of my fellow Scions? What motivates you to study the past?_
> 
> _I look forward to hearing from you again._
> 
> _Yours,_

You read over your response, noting how crude it sounds next to his--not that it should bother you, you are sure there are formal treaties that would seem crude next to that--before signing your name and sealing it in an envelope with the Scions' seal.

Later, after answering the other letters more simply, you step out to the postmoogle. A chilly north wind from Coerthas finds you almost instantly as you hand the moogle the normal letters. Finally, you hold out the last envelope, simply addressed to "E."

"I received an anonymous letter today, but it said you would know where to send a reply if I chose?"

"Oh, him... We'll take care of it, kupo!" The moogle takes the letter from you and tucks it in a special pocket of his bag.

Curious and pressing for any advantage, you hope the moogle can help you learn something of your admirer. "What can you tell me about him? The letter said little other than we'd met before."

"Sorry, kupo! I didn't meet him myself, you know how these things work!" The fluffy white creature gives what you can only interpret as a shrug.

"Actually, no one knows how your operation works." You expect little in the way of answers from the moogle, notoriously reticent they are, but are slightly disappointed regardless.

"That's right! Well, good night, kupo!" He waves at you, the motion causing his pom to wobble. You laugh and bid him farewell as you head back in to the warmth of the Seventh Heaven.


	2. Temptation of Knowledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a hard week helping Doma's refugees in their move to Mor Dhona, the Warrior of Light receives another letter from the mystery historian.

You knew the peace and quiet wouldn't last. Nor are you even sure you would've wanted it to. But that does little to change the dull ache currently radiating through your every muscle and joint, having just finished an incredibly tiresome week spent helping the remnants of Doma relocate to Revenant's Toll.

Nice as it is to be relied upon, you muse, it seemed no job was too small to be entrusted to you during this journey. You hunted down scattered scales from ancient armor, you soothed an old man's fragile sense of smell, you tracked down their children and patiently answered their questions, you helped load and unload the caravans, you cleared the roads, your served their meal...

On and on it went.

Guilt creeps up on you as you finally allow these vague annoyance to sneak through. _These people have lost their homes. The very least I could do is ease their transition to their new one._ Further annoyance creeps up next to the guilt, cranky that even your own conscience won't allow you a self-indulgent whine or two. You pinch the bridge of your nose, willing your mind to still itself.

"Are you well?" You turn to the source of the voice to find Yugiri, the mysterious woman who acts as the refugees' leader. She watches over her people enjoying their first meal in their new home, as you do. She has the battle-capable among them organized into shifts so their group is never unguarded, even during a festive welcome feast with all the adventurers of the Toll ready to respond in case of an unexpected problem.

"I think I simply need rest. Please let Tataru know if you need anything from us, Lady Yugiri." She bows, and you nod in turn before walking south toward the aetheryte.

The postmoogle near the Seventh Heaven spies you and seeks your attention, waving a letter in the air. Your breath briefly catches in your throat. Is it...

From here, it looks the same.

You aren't quite sure what it was about his last letter that hooked you, but you had hoped for a follow-up from "E" ever since, and now it seems to be here. You stride over to the postmoogle, take the letter with thanks, and find your favorite quiet spot to read.

It's him alright--the same flowing script, the same specificity of address, the same unmarked wax seal, the same plain parchment. You unfold the page and begin reading.

> _Warrior of Light,_
> 
> _That you should ask after my motivations as one of your first questions to me is satisfying, as it was going to be one of my first questions to you as well. It is useful to know what drives a person, is it not?_
> 
> _The inevitable cycle of the ages is one of my deepest interests. Civilizations rise and collapse again and again; there is always a swelling bustle as a wave building in the ocean, then a peaking crest, then all inevitably breaks and falls back to stillness._
> 
> _I also find it most enlightening to learn the source of the realm's major conflicts, past and present, and it is in that capacity that I believe you should be interested in what I can share. Imagine the lives you could save by, for example, discovering and neutralizing the source of Garlemald's lust for conquest. If the information I possess could put an end to that war, or even one yet more critical...._
> 
> _But now, fair is fair; what is it that motivates you to be the hero that you are to the realm, standing in the path of powers sometimes so difficult to fathom? Do you hope for fame and power? Do you devote yourself to serve a higher being? Or are the bonds of friendship and love perhaps your driving force instead? If I were to aid you, I should like to know that aid will go to the right purpose._
> 
> _Regards,  
>  E_

The unknown writer's words cause you to draw in a sharp breath. Could it be possible to end a war with one key piece of information? The simple knowledge of the Ultima Weapon's location spawned a coordinated strike that temporarily ended Garlean aggression in Eorzea, so depending on what he knows....

The temptation is so great that it overpowers the other thought that crops up in the back of your mind: who said you would work with this stranger? You know nothing of him. You dismiss the thought near immediately; it isn't as if some idle scholar could truly pose a threat to you.

His questions, though, nag at you. Why _do_ you do everything you are bid? Whether you're asked to slay a primal or fetch a perfumed scarf for an old man, you never turn down any task. Even that woman with the Adventurer's Guild scoffed when she saw you of all people carrying out bottles of wine for today's feast. But that isn't fair, is it? If there's something you can do to help....

Your response forms into words as you ponder, and later that evening you put quill to parchment once again.

> _Dear E,_
> 
> _My motivations are simple. There are very few who are capable of dealing with some of the threats I face, and I am one of them. I have talented companions, the resources of an organization devoted to being Eorzea's guiding light, a blessing that allows me to face primals without risk of influence, and on one occasion I was even shielded from certain death by Hydaelyn Herself. Do I not then have a duty to stand against the waves that would crash on our shores and wash us away, as you put it? I owe my companions, who would lay down their lives for mine, no less. And that's to say nothing of the innocents who would lose their homes and lives if I remained idle._
> 
> _So. Fame and power, no. I wouldn't be sure of what to do with either. I have no grand designs to change the realm. Love, no. Friendship, perhaps, though I feel what my fellow Scions and I share is not quite the same. Religious devotion... I recognize that Hydaelyn chose me for something, blessed me, protected me, and I am grateful for that. But She chose a warrior, not a missionary. I use these gifts to protect the innocent as I was bid, not to live a life of contemplation or to spread some unknown gospel._
> 
> _Tell me, then: how does a student of ages past come into the knowledge of current conflicts that you claim to have? Is Garlemald acting to continue some ancient Allagan aggression? Please, if you know something that would help, I would ask you to share it. If my motivations call my character into question somehow, I could put you into contact with other Scions. Anything to bring a lasting peace and hope to the people._

Again you tap your quill idly, contemplating whether to add a final thought that cropped up in your mind--a pang at the thought of passing this eloquent mystery off to someone else.

Well, what harm could it do, anyway?

> _Though I would be loathe to see our correspondence end, if that were the case._
> 
> _Yours,_

As before, you sign, seal an envelope, and exchange a quick word with the rather dejected-looking moogle. Surely this man cannot be so difficult to find, you wonder?

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle briefly as you close the door to the Rising Stones behind you. Just the chill coming from Silvertear, surely....


	3. Temptation of Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After slaying Leviathan, the Warrior of Light is full of questions and doubts... but the mysterious writer indirectly alludes to answers.

From your room in Limsa Lominsa's Mizzenmast Inn, you stare out at a night-black sea. The moon's reflection shimmers only from the lightest breeze on the water.

Leviathan lies slain by your hand. People clamor to thank you and marvel at your ability: Admiral Merlwyb, Yugiri, every officer of the Maelstrom, particularly the crew of the Whorleater. You've accepted each one, knowing the thanks are more for their benefit than yours, humble, hiding your true thoughts.

Under the stoicism, you are troubled. The threat is ended, yes, but an entire fleet was lost in an attempt to divert the Sahagin from their aetheryte so you could prevent the summoning in the first place. You heard talk of survivors and of salvage, but lives were lost because you were asked to stop it and could not. The Sahagin elder was too well-protected, and even when Merlwyb demonstrated her master marksmanship on him, he...

Twelve, how can the same power that grants you passive visions and understanding of language do _that_? Immortality? Transfer of the soul into new bodies? It can't possibly. There has to be more to it. And yet, you remember the so-called called Emissary's words to Minfilia: none of you has mastered the Echo, and if you did, you would agree with the Ascians' goals and methods.

Unfinished thoughts and remote possibilities swirl through you. What could you possibly learn that would turn your goals around so thoroughly? But a sharp knock on the door shatters your thoughts irrecoverably, and you scowl without meaning to. "Yes?"

A deep voice bellows back at you: "Begging your pardon, Scion! Message for you!"

You crack the door and thank the roegadyn inn employee as he hands you...

_How in the world?_

The envelope is addressed to you as usual, but this time it clearly lists your location as "The Mizzenmast Inn, Limsa Lominsa, La Noscea." Is he following you? You haven't seen anyone you would expect to be the writer. Perhaps he is simply in Revenant's Toll and is aware that the Scions are out on assignment. With a mental note to ask Slafborn whether he counts a man like this among his acquaintances, you retrieve the letter from its envelope and sit to read.

> _Warrior of Light,_
> 
> _By the time this reaches you, you will doubtless have claimed victory over another beastman god. All the realm buzzes with your legend, and countless are those who owe you their lives._
> 
> _And how admirable that you do not seek power or fortune for a prize. You could surely have both, holding your skills for ransom and asking for more when the realm faces a new threat, but instead you simply do what you do out of a wish to usher in better days for the masses._
> 
> _This blessing you speak of is intriguing. Similarly blessed individuals have been known to exist through the ages, with varied reports of strange abilities appended to each account. Truth be told, a rational person would labor to believe some of them._
> 
> _To speak toward how I know about current conflicts: as I said, the repetition, the cycle, this is my primary focus. Once a pattern is found, it becomes easy to identify the pattern when it recurs and predict the current age. As a show of good faith, I can share with you this: the Garlean war of succession will conclude, and soon, with the previous Emperor's warmongering grandson emerging victorious rather than the more temperate second son. Eorzea would do well to seek what aid it can in the coming storm._
> 
> _I, too, would be loathe to see our correspondence end. Unless, perhaps... we were to meet again?_
> 
> _E_

Your heart races. So much to take in.

Who can you warn about the Garleans? Realistically... no one. There is no evidence, no true intelligence, this is simply a prediction. Still... though you never sought power, there _are_ powerful people who take your advice and input seriously, and you could express concern and worry that the realm is not prepared for every eventuality. Yes, that should help.

And he knows of other instances of the Echo manifesting in unbelievable ways. You must learn more. You must. If you can find the middle step between what you have and what you saw, if you can gradually find the path on your own, if you can be free to come to your own conclusions, it would be wrong not to.

And...

And he wants to meet.

There is no question, of course. His letters fascinate you as much as he claimed you fascinate him. You want to know the man behind them. An instinct creeps up unbidden: this could be dangerous, this could be a trap, you should talk to your fellow Scions before agreeing to a meeting. You dismiss it as irrelevant; it's not as if anyone runs every passing fancy past you, and besides, you are more than capable of handling yourself if faced with an ambush.

Your response this time is short.

> _Dear E,_
> 
> _I will ensure the information about the Garlean war of succession is used appropriately. Thank you._
> 
> _I would be interested to hear some of these unbelievable accounts of the Echo's manifestations. I witnessed something that defies sanity and need to make sense of it; if you can help, I would be in your debt._
> 
> _A meeting sounds ideal for such a conversation. I will return to Revenant's Toll on the morrow, but I have gil enough to use the aetheryte network freely if Revenant's Toll is an inconvenient location for you. If you would care to name a time and place?_

You sign and slide the folded parchment into one of the inn's complimentary envelopes tucked into its desk drawers, then slip out to the Drowning Wench and south to the nearest postmoogle. For a moment, you wonder what you're doing; this moogle surely couldn't know of your odd arrangement? Perhaps you could hold on to this response until you return to Mor Dhona... But no. There are so few things you ask for in return for your deeds. Let this be one of them. These answers are important.

"Excuse me, I have a strange--"

"Oh! I was waiting for this one, kupo...." The moogle snatches the letter from your hand and tucks it away in a separate pocket, just as the one in Revenant's Toll does. Stunned, you stand rooted in place until the fluffy creature jolts you from your reverie with a pointed "good night, kupo!"

"Thank you, good night..."

* * *

Two days later, his response comes.

> _Warrior of Light,_
> 
> _Shall we meet tomorrow night, say... two bells to midnight? At old Camp Revenant's Toll, to the west, where we may speak openly without curious eavesdroppers. I realize a remote location may not inspire confidence, so arm yourself if it pleases you._
> 
> _When you see me, I ask that you disregard my appearance, which you may find unpleasant, and remember our correspondence. Remember that I approach you as a friend, that I have asked nothing of you but your time and attention, and that I truly believe what I can offer will help you._
> 
> _E_

You draw in a sharp breath.

_Tomorrow._


	4. Temptation of Anticipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "E" turns out to be someone the Warrior of Light never suspected, but the exchanges between the two of them have bought the writer a chance to be heard.

The next day passes more slowly than you thought possible. Minfilia and the others are intensely troubled by recent news of the Isle of Val's utter destruction, lending the Rising Stones a thick air of tension from which you desperately seek escape. Several messages have come recently requesting your assistance with this or that, but most of them are set aside for another day; it would not do to have something get complicated and prevent you from attending this meeting.

The one missive you do respond to, you almost immediately regret. The drunken prodigy of a weaponsmith in Hyrstmill had asked for you, but upon seeing you, he immediately begins ranting about a Hannish alchemist who refuses to leave him be. Said alchemist then promptly ropes you into some experimental process that he promises will strengthen your weapon, but the process he proposes does little to take your mind off the slow passage of time. If anything, it amplifies it.

Torturous.

Three bells to go. At dinner, you give in to the nagging of your instincts and approach one of your fellow Scions discreetly.

"Yda?"

"Hmm?"

Yda, you decide, is the least likely to pry into the purpose of your outing while still taking you seriously. "Not to cause undue concern, but... I'm meeting someone tonight, and if I'm not back by midnight...."

"Oooh, say no more! I was wondering if you were ever going to get involved with anyone!'' Her mask hides her eyes, but the mischief in her face is clear enough in her teasing grin. You flush.

"It's nothing like that, I--" Words fail you, and Yda giggles at your sudden color. "Wait, what? You were wondering?"

"Oh don't mind any of that. Papalymo will be so tickled to know I got you flustered! He'll pretend not to be of course. But anyway!" Yda is so animated that it becomes hard not to laugh--a welcome relief from today's tension. "So you want me to come looking for you if you haven't come back by when?"

"Please. Midnight. To the west. And please don't--"

"My lips are sealed." She leans forward and touches your forearm. "Thanks for trusting me with this. It's nice to see you opening up. Tell me all about your special someone later, hmm?" Her smile is now more genuine than mischievous, and you return it despite another smaller wave of heat rising in your face.

Darkness falls. With just under a bell to go to your meeting with the mysterious E, you decide to head out early. You can observe the area, ensure there will be no unwelcome interruptions, get your thoughts in order, calm your nerves... Yes, this is a good plan. Weapon sheathed within reach, you step out into Mor Dhona's lake-chilled night and head west.

Respectful nods of acknowledgement are shortly exchanged with the guard at the gate, and the path before you soon falls dark. The lights of Revenant's Toll behind and the lights of the orange crystal formations ahead serve only to enhance the contrast and deepen the shadows as you pick your way down the ungentle sloped road to the ruined Camp Revenant's Toll. Once there, you walk a circle around the large crystal formation in the center--the old ruined aetheryte, you suspect--then continue a short way west to ensure no surprises are on their way from the direction of the Tangle. You hear only wildlife, and you allow yourself to relax, returning to the ruined aetheryte and climbing to a vantage point about halfway up. From here, you should be able to see him coming.

Your heart leaps into your throat briefly at the excitement, but you will yourself calm and attempt to collect your thoughts, gathering what little you know of him.

_Someone I've met before. A historian. Sharlayan? Focused on the cycle of civilizations' rise and fall. Passing familiarity with the Echo... but of course he is if he's studied previous calamities. Unpleasant appearance. Disfigured? Fire, war?_

You scowl, realizing most of your correspondence together has been about you. He ignored your requests for information about him as if you hadn't asked, instead leading the conversation elsewhere, suggesting he could help you while questioning your worthiness to receive his aid. The only reason you even know his gender is that a moogle accidentally confirmed it.

Yda's playful teasing from earlier comes to mind. What if...? After all, who arranges a secluded meeting in the night? Perhaps his reluctance was simply born of insecurity and a desire for acceptance.

You look up at the lights coming from Revenant's Toll, expecting to see a figure any moment. Surely the time is nearly come? And yet, realizing how you were led to this meeting with so little information from the letters' author, you cannot help but feel a wrongness....

The feeling of wrongness lingers and intensifies, sending a prickle up the back of your neck, and you shudder with the sudden realization of its cause.

_No._

A pool of blackness manifests in the air before you. The formless dark soon gives way to a familiar shape: a man in ornate white robes and a red mask now stands some two yalms away, between you and the path down from your vantage point.

_Not him._

Elidibus bows slightly, formally, but remains silent. You feel as though you have been doused in ice water. You made so many assumptions based on his words, imagining a disfigured Sharlayan scholar poring over musty tomes, not an immortal being who knows the ebb and flow of past civilizations because _he was there_. How could you not have considered...

But you remember his words.

> _Remember that I approach you as a friend, that I have asked nothing of you but your time and attention, and that I truly believe what I can offer will help you._

He has never made a move to attack, except to temporarily disable Minfilia in what he claimed was self-defense--not that Minfilia could have hurt him, but could he know that? He did set a series of voidsent on you the first time you met, but he warned you it would happen if you followed him. He seems... honest? For an Ascian, at least.

Even now he simply waits silently, patient for you to come to terms with the fact that you've agreed to meet with your enemy.

"Emissary."

"Warrior of Light. We meet again at last."

"You were _not_ among the E names I had considered."

"I rarely am." He offers a slight but satisfied-looking smile, the meaning behind it impossible to discern with most of the expression hidden behind his mask.

"You deceived me." An unfair accusation born of cognitive dissonance; you know it the moment the words leave your lips. He seems to know it, too.

"I spoke no lies. Expectation colors perception, and yours led you to misinterpretation. Consider it my first lesson to you."

" _First_ lesson? You expect I will allow more?" Brazen. Just because he tricked you once.... 

"Do not deceive yourself. Such trivialities are beneath us both. You wish to know what I would share, and I wish to know you. This will be the first of many meetings."

He corrects you in such a matter-of-fact manner, employing a paradoxically gentle sternness. He does not waste time with making you feel guilt for your natural defensiveness; rather, he simply strips it away and discards it, irrelevant as extra layers of clothing on a hot day.

And... he's right. It would be a disservice to do anything other than listen to what he has to say. You can decide for yourself how useful or true it is after you hear it. "What would you share, then, on this first of many meetings?" Your emotions are running so high that you aren't even certain whether you intended mockery by parroting his own phrasing back at him.

"What would you ask?"

Infuriating. And yet... also a nigh irresistible invitation to learn more. "Why offer to help me? What could you possibly gain?"

"We need not be enemies. If I can show you that, it prevents further conflict and serves the greater good. Is that not your aim?"

You relax slightly. He remains still, watching you, waiting for you to ask more. "Ascians write letters?"

A brief pause before Elidibus' answer is the only indication he allows that your question is unexpected. "I do what I must to achieve my goals, as do you." Again he focuses on what similarity exists between you.

"I am your goal?"

"You are Gifted." As if that explains everything.

"There are others. Less dangerous, more learned. Why me?" You were told, in the wake of the Isle of Val's destruction, that it had been devoted to studying the Echo and housed several with the talent.

"There have been many like them through the ages." He steps closer, his focus on you intense even from the respectful distance he still keeps. "As I have already said, you are different. Something new."

"Flattery." Heat rises in your cheeks, and you are thankful the crystal's orange light probably obscures this reaction.

"Flattery implies dishonesty. There was none."

Yda's words creep into your thoughts again, unbidden, unwelcome. You shove them away forcefully. _He is an Ascian._ Surely you cannot be so different as to incite some special fascination from an immortal who has presumably seen everything...?

Elidibus snaps you back to the present. "These cannot be the only questions you mean to ask--my motivations and methods?" Aha, you have frustrated him. Good. Best not take it too far, lest he sever communication, but let him feel as toyed with as you do.

"Someone once said to me that 'It is useful to know what drives a person.'" You pause, letting his own words sink in. He smirks. Is he... _enjoying_ the fact that you're bold enough to tease him? "Your letters were vague. I wanted to know more."

"Fair is fair."

"The real question, then: What truth would the Echo reveal that would make us allies?" Clearly this is what he wants to discuss.

"You ask to hear the end of the story without first knowing the premise. Start from the beginning." Again, infuriating. 

You think for a moment. The beginning? The simplest question you can think of... "What is the Echo?"

"The ability to break down barriers." Progress. A real answer.

This makes sense and helps explain the specific means by which you view moments of others' pasts. "Like those around a mind and the memories within."

"It is capable of so much more, but yes."

"Such as?"

"At its height, the soul overcomes the barrier of flesh." Like the Sahagin Elder.

"I saw this. It led to something like immortality. But... it was a warped immortality that required possession?"

A slow smile spreads across his lips. "There are other means for one's soul--for one's _aether_ \--to manifest without being anchored in flesh."

He... he cannot mean an existence like his own?

 _Are Ascians themselves some final maturation of the Echo?_ Your mind reels at the thought. Elidibus simply waits for you to process this.

But becoming _like_ them would not necessitate becoming _one of them_. You would still be you, would you not? The chaos they sow would be as inexcusable then as now. "Why would that make me change my mind about your methods?"

"Our methods are a means to an end. With mastery of your gifts, you would be free, unbound, tasting of all knowledge until you realize the truth of things. Then you would know that ours is the correct end."

"Why not simply tell me?"

"You must arrive at the truth by your own efforts. Otherwise you would reject it."

Anger briefly surges within you. If he never intended to tell you.... But no. In fairness, he has shared a great deal. You just need to puzzle through how to use this new information.

"Take some time to think on what I have said here tonight. I will contact you again." He does not leave yet, waiting for your response.

Contemplating whether you want to meet again, your heart pounds. He is an Ascian, he is your enemy, but... he seems honest enough so far. You can research on your own to verify certain claims, see whether other accounts of the Echo match his version of how it works. And the temptation to learn more about an existence so unlike your own....

He fascinates you, too, if you are honest with yourself. Again, Yda's teasing springs to mind.

You finally nod. "I'll be waiting."

Elidibus bows slightly, as he did when he appeared, then withdraws into black and vanishes, leaving you alone once again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Ozma for lending me this prompt :)


End file.
